


Right Outside of Home

by Echo_of_Eden



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Minor Violence, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 07:27:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4470494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Echo_of_Eden/pseuds/Echo_of_Eden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Even if it’s not, I want us to be friends for as long as possible. You’re my favorite.”</p><p>“Takao, don’t say things like that so flippantly!”</p><p>“But it’s true.”</p><p>“You’re hopeless.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Outside of Home

Takao watches Midorima’s eyelashes flutter, and he thinks that they are obscenely long and obscenely beautiful. That’s how Midorima is, though - beautiful in an unexpected way. When they had first met, Takao had found him rather cold and a little off-putting, carrying around strange items and mouth set in a permanent strict frown. He swore that the boy never smiled, and had he not become as close to Midorima as he had, he would still believe that.

But how close was he to Midorima, anyway? He asks himself that and isn’t sure he wants to know the answer. Takao never doubts that Midorima thinks of him as a dear friend, his closest friend, though he would probably volunteer to be slammed in the face with a basketball before he would admit it.

This was what he knew, but what he didn’t know was how Midorima would react if Takao told him he was in love with him. God, in love to the point that it made him ache. He had watched Midorima grow older throughout their high school years, watched as he got even taller, as his jaw grew strong and cheekbones sharpened, eyes pieces of hard sea glass that calculated down to the last detail. And those eyelashes. Those eyelashes.

But Shin-chan was still Shin-chan, following his horoscope closely and keeping his lucky item of the day with him at all times. He was still hopelessly awkward with new people and new situations, still fumbled with his reply when Takao would say something embarrassing, still coiled white tape around his long fingers and still slept curled in on himself as though in the womb.

This was the person he loved, and Takao was dying to crack himself open before Midorima and let his feelings spill out in a wave.

Instead, Midorima sleeps next to him in that defensive position and Takao watches those long dark lashes as they tremble under the influence of sleep.

-

“No, I’m telling you, it’s good. The gore was really realistic but - tasteful. Yeah, that’s the word I’m looking for. But some lady in the theatre screamed and the guy she was with had to follow her when she ran out. I felt sorry for him.”

“I see,” Midorima almost sighs, and he pushes his glasses up the slim bridge of his nose, picking up his sandwich before setting it back down. He raises his eyebrows at Takao, who is grinning at him, chin propped in one hand. “What are you so happy about?”

“Always happy to be with you, Shin-chan,” Takao replies, and he crinkles his nose in perverse amusement when Midorima abruptly clears his throat. Breaking Midorima’s cool composure is one of the more simple pleasures in Takao’s life.

“You’re absurd.”

“Yeah, well, you still hang around me anyway.”

“It’s more accurate to say that I let you hang around me, isn’t it?” Midorima says, and Takao shrugs, stuffing a cold French fry into his mouth. He shifts on the plastic bench and brushes his hands on his yellow pants.

“We have a very beautiful, mutual relationship. I know that deep, deep…deep down, you love me.”

“Ugh.”

“You do. Big, scary Shin-chan loves me. I love you, too,” he laughs, and Midorima ducks his head, fingers clutching the side of his glasses as if they were a lifeline, and he opens his mouth to say something but Takao cuts him off with, “I’m just kidding with you.”

Midorima looks away from him, cheeks pink, and Takao stares at the taped fingers that rest against the table, hating himself for taking it back.

-

“Hey.”

“What?”

“We’re going to stick together, right? I mean, even if we go off to different universities, we’ll stay friends?”

“That’s not a very realistic notion.”

“Even if it’s not, I want us to be friends for as long as possible. You’re my favorite.”

“Takao, don’t say things like that so flippantly!”

“But it’s true.”

“You’re hopeless.”

-

Midorima is dying and Takao is clutching his shirt, watching the blood stream down his chin, staining the skin as if it were something as innocent as the juice of a fruit. Takao can feel the tears coursing down as cheeks, can feel the heat of them, and he knows that he is screaming -

Stop, Shintarou, stop stop stop stop -

But there is no sound. Midorima’s long eyelashes adhere together because he is crying from - what? Pain? There is so much blood but he makes no noise, only stares up at Takao as if Takao were the guilty one. As if Takao had been the one to make him bleed.

When Takao wakes up, he is covered with a sheen of sweat and Midorima is leaning over him, just a shape in the darkness.

“Takao?” he asks, and Takao can hear the uncertainty in his voice. “Are you well?”

He parts his dry lips to speak but all that escapes is a ragged sob, and Takao claps a hand over his mouth. Though he is not crying, such a desperate noise came out anyway. He feels embarrassed but is at the same time still too frightened to care. Midorima reaches past him to click on the lamp by the bedside table (about a year ago, Takao had just stopped sleeping on the guest futon and Midorima had grudgingly accepted the new arrangement) and he grabs his glasses.

“Was I talking in my sleep?” Takao asks, managing to sit up beside Midorima, who is staring at him as though he has sprouted another limb. His heart is beating so hard that it hurts, and Takao has to lay a hand over his chest in an attempt to calm it.

“Not talking so much as yelling. Even if you hadn’t made any noise, you were thrashing so hard that I was afraid you’d hurt yourself.”

“Fuck, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Midorima tells him, and massages his temple wearily. “Would you like me to get you some water?”

“It’s fine,” Takao replies, wiping his forehead with the hem of his tank top. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

“Always so perceptive, Shin-chan,” he laughs - or tries to laugh - but Midorima sets such a steady gaze upon him that he has to look away. The lamp light flickers, making the shadows in the room jump.

“…if you want to talk about it,” Midorima says, voice stilted awkwardly, “I wouldn’t mind listening.”

“So sweet. But I’d rather just go back to sleep,” he says, though that’s the last thing he wants to do. Midorima doesn’t reply that time, instead settling back down, turning his back on Takao. When he turns the lamp off, pitching the room into darkness, he wonders if he should have told Midorima right then that he loved him.

-

Thunder claps in the sky, and Takao watches the rivulets of water as they race down the window. He is sitting with Midorima and doing a whole lot of nothing while the other is hard at work. Takao isn’t sure which noise is more soothing - the sound of the rain, or the sound of Midorima’s pencil as it scratches its way across paper.

“Aren’t you ready for a break?” he asks.

“No.”

“Come on, seriously? It’s Saturday, we should be doing something fun, not…you know, this.”

“I’m working, you’re doing nothing,” Midorima replies.

“Well, true, but still. We have run of the house and we’re wasting a serious opportunity. We could, I don’t know, watch a movie, play video games, furiously make out…” Takao says lazily, tacking on the last bit with a snort, but his smile dies when Midorima’s pencil slips from his sudden fumbling grip. The other’s cheeks have flared up something awful.

“Midorima, fuck, I was kidding.”

“Shut up, Takao.”

“What, did you think I was serious?” Takao lets out a short little laugh, but Midorima’s mouth is set in a thin, hard line and he senses that something is wrong. Just the thought makes his heart beat a little faster. When Midorima doesn’t reply, Takao sits up straighter and says, “I can be serious.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he manages, pushing his glasses up despite the fact that they haven’t slipped at all. Takao stares at him for a moment before walking around the study table on his knees. Midorima’s back is unnaturally stiff, and Takao finds his sudden awkwardness to be cute in a way that only Midorima could pull off.

“You didn’t have to say anything,” Takao replies, aware of exactly how fast his pulse is racing when he places his hand on top of Midorima’s to still the movement of his pencil. “I want to kiss you, Shin-chan.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Midorima sputters, but he allows Takao to turn his head so that they’re facing each other. With Takao on his knees like this, they’re finally eye level, and he can feel the heat of Midorima’s breath as it brushes his cheek. He’s so terribly close to getting what he has wanted for so long that it almost doesn’t seem real. Takao sinks his fingers into Midorima’s hair and before Midorima can pull away, their mouths are pressed together.

Takao has kissed a few girls, he knows how this works, but Midorima’s lips are unyielding under his. He presses short, chaste kisses to the other’s lips until they finally part, and Takao tilts his head to the side. When their tongues slip together, Midorima’s hand lands on his hip, taped fingers clutching the sharp bone there, and Takao groans into the kiss. Midorima’s mouth tastes sweet from the tea they had been drinking earlier, and his teeth are so slick and mouth so hot and soft -

Takao feels like he’s about to lose his mind.

Before he can really process what he’s doing, he’s climbed into Midorima’s lap, sitting on those hard thighs as if they were made to support him. Midorima is gripping both of Takao’s hipbones as if to anchor himself, not that Takao minds, not at all. He’s too focused on the heat of Midorima’s mouth, and he slips a hand under the other’s shirt, letting his fingers slide up the hard swell of abdominal muscles. Midorima makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat as Takao kisses across his jaw and down his neck. He can already feel himself getting hard, nerves on fire, and he wants to touch every inch of Midorima until he understands just how much Takao really does love him.

An hour later, when they’ve both shed their clothes and are grinding together in a tangle of limbs, when Midorima is breathing out Takao’s first name in a hoarse voice -

Kazunari -

When Takao is digging his fingers into the flesh of Midorima’s back and telling him he loves him, he doesn’t regret a thing.

He comes so hard that his vision nearly goes white and all he can hear is the sound of Midorima breathing in his ear.

-

Takao traces the bones of Midorima’s hands, follows the blue-green veins like a map, and Midorima allows him to pull off the tape and kiss each long finger. Midorima still hasn’t said anything about Takao’s impromptu confession, but he hasn’t run away, either. And that, to Takao, is a positive thing.

“This afternoon certainly took a different direction from the one I had planned,” Midorima says, his voice soft. Takao scoffs.

“Complaining?”

“Did I say that?”

“Touché, Shin-chan.”

He doesn’t say anything to that, and Takao places his forehead against Midorima’s cool knuckles.

“Takao.”

“Hm?”

“…you, too.”

Takao glances up at Midorima, whose eyes are suddenly closed, and Takao is about to ask what he means when it dawns on him that Midorima has finally gotten around to replying.

Before Takao can say anything at all, Midorima curves up his lips and smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this about a year ago (time flew by!) but finally posting it somewhere~ Thanks for reading, and as always, you can find me at laceandcaramel.tumblr.com!
> 
> \- K


End file.
